


Bad Luck

by greenmage128



Series: Tumblr Drabbles [11]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Mild Blood, Multi, Smut, …not in relation to the smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-15
Updated: 2014-06-15
Packaged: 2018-02-04 17:46:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 868
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1787647
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/greenmage128/pseuds/greenmage128
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Seven years bad luck? Pfft. Worth it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bad Luck

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted June 13, 2014 for [Quick Fic Friday](http://dandelionwhiskey.tumblr.com/quickficfriday): Week 10. This is the second Growlthazar fic I've written in which someone ends up bleeding. Maybe it'll be Crowley's turn next time? Heh.

Gabriel isn't sure how it happened, how he ended up naked and pressed against Crowley's antique mirror, legs wrapped around Balthazar's waist as the blond thrust up into him. The bed was less than five feet away, but it hadn't been close enough, not when they were in one of their "fuck or die" moods. 

His skin stuck to the cool glass, but Gabriel didn't notice the uncomfortable pull and pinch, because Balthazar had found just the right angle, cockhead brushing against Gabriel's prostate now at the height of each thrust. "Oh Balth, fuck," Gabriel found himself saying, clinging to the other man's shoulders in a grasp for leverage, to get more of that feeling.

"That's rather the idea, love," Balthazar said with a strained chuckle. He nipped at Gabriel's earlobe and gave one forceful thrust. "Want more of that?" 

Gabriel dug his nails into Balthazar's shoulder blades, heat starting to coil in his groin at that. "Hell yes, more." 

Balthazar shifted his weight, leaning on the mirror now and upped his pace until the both of them were gasping and panting for breath. A few more moments at that angle and that pace, and it didn't even matter that he couldn't manage to get a hand around Gabriel's cock. They spilled over the edge together, Balthazar swallowing Gabriel's moans with a desperate, open-mouthed kiss. 

Both of their limbs started to shake as the euphoria ebbed away, and on unsteady legs they made their way to the bed. As Gabriel peeled himself off the mirror, a sharp pain shot through his back.

“Ow, what the fuck?”

The blond collapsed onto the bed, spread-eagle, tanned skin glistening with sweat. He raised an eyebrow at Gabriel and held out a hand. “Getting old, darling?”

Gabriel glared but accepted the help. He sat down on the edge of the bed, trying to get a look at his back. From the corner of his eye, he saw a trickle of red. “Is that…?”

“Blood, yes.” The bed shifted, Balthazar moving up and back down, and then there was a cloth on his skin, Gabriel guessed at the source of the blood. “It’s not bad, just a scratch. It missed your spine.”

The shorter man winced as Balthazar shifted the cloth, mopping up more of the blood. “My question is, how the hell did that happen?”

And in that instant they both froze, angling to meet each other’s eyes before twisting to look back at the mirror. “Fuck,” was their expletive of choice.

A hairline crack had appeared in the upper center of the mirror, where their combined weight had been pressed against it.

“Crowley’s going to kill us,” Gabriel said, unable to keep himself from stating the obvious.

“No, not kill us. We are going to _pay_ for that.” Balthazar rested his forehead on Gabriel’s shoulder. “I think I would’ve preferred the seven years bad luck.”

“Going to kill you for what?” came Crowley’s voice down the hallway.

Shit. The fact that they had left the bedroom door open in their eagerness had slipped Gabriel’s mind until now. Shit, shit, shit. They needed a diversion. “Leaving you out?”

Crowley appeared in the doorway, his black dress shirt untucked, pants askew, and a pleased smirk on his face. “On the contrary, I got quite the earful. Dinner’s a bit burnt though.”

Gabriel and Balthazar exchanged a split-second glance, a plan brewing wordlessly between them, and Balthazar picked up the baton. He made a grab for Crowley’s belt, tugging him close with a grin. “We’ll pretend it’s Cajun-style and call it even.”

“Or forget about dinner all together,” Gabriel said, aiding Balthazar’s effort to pull Crowley into bed by scooting back towards the pillows, spreading his legs in a clear invitation.

“But then everything will get cold,” Crowley said with all the sincerity of a pornstar. 

Balthazar started in on his shirt buttons. “Perhaps we’ll finally get use out of the microwave, then.”

“In that case.” Crowley ran his hand through Balthazar’s hair and dragged him into a kiss before turning his attention to Gabriel.

And suddenly Gabriel was glad for the blacks and dark reds Crowley decorated with, because he didn’t need to add “bloodstains in the sheets” to his list of crimes, not that he’d regret it either way.

* * *

Crowley was the first to rouse, more from the fact that he was the only one capable of walking than anything else. He paused as he was picking up his pants from the floor, gaze on the mirror. “You’ve got to be kidding me. I’m going to _kill_ you two.”

“I fucking told you, dude,” Gabriel said with a nudge to Balthazar’s shoulder.

Balthazar seemed to make a point of ignoring that. “We’ll pay for it, Crowles, don’t worry.”

“Damn right.” Crowley dropped his pants again and went to the nightstand, extracting a few choice items from the drawer. “And your seven years of bad luck? It begins now.”

Gabriel couldn’t stop himself from raising an eyebrow and snarking, “Y’know, when people say they make their own luck, I don’t think this is what they mean.”

A dangerous grin spread across Crowley’s face. “You’re up first then, angel.”

Strangely enough, Gabriel didn’t complain.


End file.
